Hoodies, Dreams, Other Borrowed Things
by Trefoil-underscore
Summary: "Now and then people passed. A mild concern, since he didn't want to move or be disturbed. He made sure his clothes always looked clean, and no one seemed to notice that he was always wearing the same ones. Except for this one skeleton." In which Captain Grillbz, previously of the Royal Guard, sits on a bench, has an existential crisis, and is befriended by a skeletal med student.
1. Chapter 1

It was snowing again. He let it fall, flakes sizzling out on the back of his neck. Dull pain needled into his head and shoulders from the cold wetness.

He had been sitting there for a few days. Close to a week, he thought. He'd tried meditating at first, but now mostly just sat with his head down, hands on his knees, looking into the icy air below.

This bench above Upper Snowdin was rarely visited. As a matter of fact, he wasn't sure why it was there. True, a faintly-visible walking trail arced past it, returning to the lights of town below, and the view was beautiful. To the right, the faint glimmer of phosphorescent snow faded into the darkness of tall, silent trees, which stretched right up to the cavern wall, somewhere beyond which were the ruins of abandoned Home. Straight below, separated from the bench by a steep drop and several hundred feet of crystal-cold air, gleamed the lights of Upper Snowdin. Central Snowdin was a haze of light further out, a bit to the right, half-hidden in the trees. The area to the left was fuzzy-looking, low trees masking the glow on the ground, fading away into deeper darkness which was, he knew, traced with veins of blue light. Snowdin Road was visible in wide shining curves, lying inert in the midst of darkness.

He'd found it not long before. Walking towards Snowdin, he'd felt disinclined to interact with anyone and headed up the trail at the edge of town instead of looking for somewhere to stay. When he'd found the single bench near the cavern wall and the beautiful view he'd sat down and he hadn't decided to move yet. His bag fit under the bench seat, the air was still and dry, and his flames had cleansing qualities, so his black pants and undyed tunic stayed presentable; something he cared about. Other than that—he considered this a vacation. He needed one. So he was willing to humor himself.

Now and then people passed. A mild concern, since he didn't want to move or be disturbed. He made sure his clothes always looked clean, and no one seemed to notice that he was always wearing the same ones. Except for this one skeleton.

He didn't look at them, but became familiar with the sound of their voice. They spoke to him every time they passed, and they passed fairly regularly. First it was just a friendly  
"Hey!"  
Then, later,  
"Oh, you're up here a lot! I like this walk! Do you like it too? Sorry, you're thinking. Sorry."  
Then it turned into  
"Hey, you're up here a lot. Heheh, me too I guess."  
And finally (oh dear),  
"Hey, are you OK? Do you live up here?"  
Then one day he sensed someone sitting down on the opposite end of the bench. He ignored them staunchly, but then there was a protracted crumpling of paper followed by a loud crunching sound, and he couldn't help turning to see what was going on.  
A young skeleton was curled up on the bench, facing him, eating candied popcorn out of a paper bag.  
"You want some?" he said immediately, extending the opened bag in Grillbz' direction. Grillbz shook his head automatically, as the scent of caramelized sugar and butter hit him in the face. His stomach lurched. He made a mental note to scrounge up some food later. But no, he didn't want to take someone else's.  
"Ah OK," said the skeleton, retracting the bag and digging out another handful, appearing disappointed. "I thought you might be hungry."

He should probably leave, thought Grillbz, before people started to get worried. A few weeks on a very comfortable bench was nothing for him, but they wouldn't know that. He'd spent three years meditating on an open hilltop once… but that was on the Surface, under the sun. He grew in strength with every hour he spent in the sun, and weakened when he was away from it. He hadn't seen the sun now in many years. So he really probably should eat something, at some point. When he felt like moving.

The problem was, he was tired of eating, and of talking to people whom he knew would be dead within a few years. He was tired of living in general. This was, he reflected, probably normal for someone who was many millennia older than anyone else under the mountain, and he'd decided just to wait it out. But he was growing fatigued.

The royal children, both human and monster, were long dead. Had their plan succeeded they would have been heroes for the ages, but they were only children, and something had gone wrong. Consequently Asgore's aging had stopped almost as soon as it had started, and he was going to remain King of the Underground for the foreseeable future, considering that Toriel was so angry at him that she appeared to have made herself invisible. If anyone knew where she was they weren't telling. It seemed unlikely that more heirs would appear. This was good in a way, it ensured that the government of the Underground would remain stable, and that Asgore would be able to carry out his plans for the Surface. But it was bad for morale.

Maybe Toriel had eloped with Gaster. He tried to make himself believe it for a moment, just to laugh at the idea, but it was too ridiculous. Gaster was dead, and Toriel in voluntary exile. And neither of them would do something like that.

The rest of the kingdom was buckling down for the long haul. The second human had fallen almost ten years after Chara's death. It was a very young child, with no weapons to speak of and a tendency to drop everything it picked up within five minutes. The monsters hadn't been sure what to do with it and had let it get all the way to New Home, where a silent crowd gathered and prevented it from moving further. The child froze—its usual response to aggression, from what Grillbz had heard—and stared at them. Grillbz had still been Captain of the largely inactive Royal Guard then. He had kept an eye on the child until Asgore appeared.  
That had been several hours. Since the child seemed nonthreatening, and hadn't been known to strike a single monster during its journey, Grillbz moved closer to let it benefit from his warmth in the eternal darkness. By the time Asgore appeared it was clinging to his leg, lightly shivering, he could feel the small muscles twitching against the cold, and he had started to remember the many years before the war when he was a protector of humans.  
He was under Asgore now, and when Asgore asked him to move aside, he pried the small arms free and stepped back into the crowd. The trident flashed red, but appeared to flicker momentarily before becoming solid as Asgore struggled with his resolve. He would be more prompt with the second killing. When it came.

It came many years later. The children and many of the grandchildren of the monsters who had gathered around the second soul were dead by the time a silent girl with a burning purple soul appeared in the castle.  
Someday, they were breaking out of that mountain and renewing the war, now with the element of surprise and several hundred years' worth of planning and technology on their side. But that was far in the future, and most of the monsters alive understood that they would never see it. Still, they threw themselves into what had become a national effort of war preparation.

Grillbz had realized one day that he hadn't closely bonded with anyone for several generations. The monsters in his acquaintance were turning into blurs. He carried out his duties as Captain of the Royal Guard with his usual thoroughness, but he spent most of his free time either meditating, reading or simply staring at a wall. He'd stopped talking to people that he wasn't required to talk to, and though he'd never been a very great talker himself, this was unusual. He needed a break.  
He'd always been able to adapt before. People changed, scenery changed, technology always had something new (telephone wires now snaked across the Underground, carrying monsters' voices far across the cavern to distant ears), and he'd always been fine with that. But now he felt worn out by the rush of time. Everything was constantly changing and new, and what did he have to contribute? They didn't need the elementals anymore, he was a relic of a dead past, with anachronistic skills and strange psychological baggage.  
Maybe part of it was that there weren't many long-lived monsters around, and no elementals at all. His potentially immortal friends had all died early deaths. Asgore would be around for a while, it seemed, but Grillbz had never been particularly close with him, and now Asgore was wracked with grief and guilt. Also, he had a country to run. Gaster had been a good friend, and should have lived much longer than he had, but he hadn't recovered from the last war.

So Grillbz had told Asgore that he'd held down the position of Captain of the Royal Guard for far too long, it was time to let someone else have a turn. Asgore was quite vocally sad to see him go, but accepted his argument of fairness, and when Grillbz said that he felt it was time for a change anyway he had given him his blessing.  
He'd ended up in Snowdin, partly because it was near Waterfall, partly because it was far away from New Home, and partly because it was a place he hadn't spent much time in before. And he had yet to leave. He also had yet to actually enter the town.

A few days passed and he hoped that the skeleton had given up on attempting to befriend him. Then one day he reappeared clutching a thick wad of fabric to his chest. He laid it on the bench near Grillbz and looked expectantly at him.  
Grillbz looked up and tried to say "what?" his voice was rusty. He ended up making a faint, inarticulate inquisitive sound.  
"It's a hoodie!" the skeleton said. "I'm pretty sure it would fit you! It's way too big for me and I've never worn it ever for some reason. It's a nice hoodie but it's not being used like at all so I thought you could have it." Grillbz gave his head a barely discernable tilt. "I've noticed you always wear the same shirt so I thought a change would be nice."  
Grillbz looked at the wad of hoodie next to him, then the skeleton. At this point it was easier to keep the gift than to attempt giving it back. He cleared his throat.  
".thank you. .I have clothing."  
The skeleton leaned forward a little, still grinning.  
"Huh?"  
Oh. He'd sounded even worse than he was expecting. He lifted his hands from his knees and signed, only remembering after a moment that not all skeletons knew WingDings.  
 _Thank you. But you don't need to concern yourself with my wellbeing. I just happen to like sitting here_.  
The skeleton, he was pleased to see, did understand WingDings.  
"Oh. OK, good. Just checking. Hey hey, you know WingDings, I know WingDings! It's pretty cool isn't it? My name's Tahoma by the way." He signed:  
 _Tahoma!_  
His signing was sloppy and overly energetic, but readable, with very loud snaps. Grillbz nodded, then signed his own abbreviated name. Tahoma cocked his head, smile-grimacing.  
"Grribblezz? Griblees? Grill's Bees?"  
 _grillbz_  
"Grillby."

Grillbz made a 'close enough' gesture.  
"I am pleased to meet you Mr. Grillby!"  
 _Grillbzy is close enough._  
'Mr' sounded wrong, though he appreciated the show of respect. And he wasn't a 'Captain' anymore, not acting anyway. Maybe never again. He wasn't sure what else to call himself.

Grillbz waited for the skeleton to leave before stuffing the hoodie into his bag and closing it up. It wasn't the sort of thing he would usually wear.

Tahoma was tall, he realized suddenly. After Gaster all normally-sized skeletons appeared short, but of course that wasn't accurate.  
This one appeared to be a young adult, at the start of his brief lifespan. He wondered how many skeletons there were around. He knew that, over the generations, some species of monster were doing better and some were dying out. He wasn't sure where skeletons fit on the list.

Tahoma, evidently encouraged by their brief conversation, came back several times and talked at length to him, or at him. Tahoma was a student at SMC (?) in his second year and he didn't sleep much so he spent a lot of time walking instead, which was bad, he really needed to sleep, sleeping was good, it was so energizing, but for some reason he could hardly ever get to sleep while he was at school, everything was so exciting and there were lights everywhere and actually he hadn't slept much at home either but somehow he just hadn't felt as tired there, and did Grillby want to visit his room? It was a nice room, except it was somehow always a huge mess, even if he'd just cleaned it, but it was warm and if Grillby wanted a change of scenery he was welcome to come crash there. Tahoma could introduce him to people. It would be great. Also, they had lots of free food. Except wait you needed a student ID to get in to the cafeteria. Oh well they could figure something out.  
Grillbz didn't offer information about himself. He didn't feel like it. But he was beginning to enjoy listening to Tahoma ramble, at times. At times he was still annoying, but Grillbz was starting to like him. One would have to be a villain not to.

Then it began to snow and didn't stop. After a day, instead of slackening off, the snow began falling harder, piling up on objects. Each slat of the bench had a mound of cold white piled down its length. Snowdin's lights were almost erased in a curtain of white.

Grillbz had been trying to sleep, but the constant onslaught of ice was too uncomfortable. The back of his tunic was soaked.  
All at once he made a decision and stood. It was time to leave. He'd spent far too long sitting on that bench anyway, and he was in too low condition to stay out during a blizzard without protective gear.  
He swayed, briefly dizzy from standing, then started for the path.  
A few hundred yards down he realized that he'd forgotten his bag. He hesitated for a few moments, cursing quietly into the wind, then struggled back up the slope and hauled it out.  
He pulled out the hoodie and tested the fabric between his fingers. It was thicker than his tunic and, of course, had a hood. He changed quickly, snowflakes steaming on his back, pulled the hood up and stuffed his hands into the pouch pocket he found on the front. The snowflakes stopped melting as soon as they hit him. His legs were still soaked but it was a great improvement.  
He settled his bag across his shoulder and started down.

His legs trembled under him as he reached the edge of town and he stopped for a moment to rest.

He'd fallen into a hidden, vegetation-covered pool of water in Waterfall the last time he went looking for Gaster and had become tangled in vines. After a moment he'd used them to pull himself out, steaming and weak, and had lain at the edge of the pool for several hours staring at the ceiling and letting the life creep slowly back into his numb leg. He'd stayed even after he thought he could stand. He was accepting, at last and fully, the certainty of Gaster's death, and grieving. Gaster had been a very stupid monster, but he in no way had deserved to die alone in Waterfall, perhaps choked by vines, or perhaps down a slick crevice and scrabbling at the walls until he lost the strength to keep his head above water.

That had been a long time ago now, but he hadn't fully healed, and his leg ached after strenuous activity. The other had only been in the water briefly and would only get a bit stiff.  
Previously, it would only act up a little after a long session of sparring with the Guards. The stiffness on one side and dull pain on the other told him that he'd overtaxed himself with this stint. Foolish, he cursed himself. Ah well, what's done is done.

He limped into town. Surely there was some lodging-house still open at this hour. Surely he could stay awake, and coherent, for long enough to make arrangements.

Suddenly he felt dizzy and realized that he'd crossed several streets in a haze, without taking in any of his surroundings. It shocked him into some degree of alertness. He needed to lie down. Maybe just under an arch for now, until the snow stopped.

Nothing in this area looked promising. He picked a direction in which the buildings looked bigger and headed for it.

When it happened again, he found himself surfacing from a sea of white to realize with a sudden confused certainty that the dog across the street from him was wearing a familiar hoodie. He wasn't sure why it was familiar. He stared at it. The torso was dark grey with SMC emblazoned across the front, and the sleeves, pouch and hood were deep blue. The dog glanced up at him and smiled, almost in recognition—that couldn't be it?—then trotted across the street and disappeared. He was alone again. Almost no one was out in this heavy snow.

A few blocks further down, he paused outside an arch with a wrought-iron top that formed the letters SMC. Gears began turning in his head. There was no gate, so he walked inside, into an open square covered in soft snow.  
A certain part of wisdom was knowing when to give up and when to ask for help, and he understood that he was fast approaching his limits. He hadn't remembered being this weak. But he'd been out of the sun for many years.

"Nice hoodie," said a friendly-looking bear in a hoodie, and this time Grillbz recognized that it was, in fact, the exact same hoodie that he himself was wearing, and smiled in response.  
".could you tell me where Michael Hall is?" he asked. The bear shuffled to a stop and blinked quizzically at him.  
"Er, what's that now?"  
".Michael Hall." He said, as distinctly as he could manage, and signed it as well.  
"Ah, sure, right across there, it's the ugly one with the plaster." The bear pointed.  
".thanks."  
"No problem. Freshman?"  
"..eh?"  
What is a freshman? Why is he fresh? Why is he a man?  
"That's nice. Welcome."  
The bear shuffled off. Grillbz lowered his head against the snow and aimed for the plaster.

When he next recovered his senses, Tahoma was directly in front of him, holding a door open.  
"Heeeeyyy! It's… you? Oh geez, are you OK?"

Grillbz pushed past him and sank down on the floor. His last sensation was of mashing his cheek into thin carpet.

 **A/N: why do I keep making new smol angst things instead of finishing a thing. Anyway this should not be long. One or two more chapters. There will be more though.**


	2. Chapter 2

He woke surrounded by strange voices. He was very warm. His warmth didn't seem to spread out from his body, but clung close. Something heavy and stifling hung around him.

"So if I wait until Tuesday to do that…"  
"Don't, start it on Monday at least."  
"Did he move?" –there, a voice he knew.  
"No, Tahoma. Yeah don't do that."  
"I need to live. I need to live and not fail."  
There were scribbling sounds, then paper rustling.  
"OK how about this:"  
"He's been here all night, are you sure we shouldn't call someone?"  
"Give it a few more hours. You said he was just fatigued."  
"I think! I could be completely horribly wrong!"  
"…That still means I need to spend at least five hours on memorization and classwork tonight. Aaaaaaaaaagh."  
Someone flopped melodramatically across the couch. Grillbz felt the vibrations through the floor.  
"You will live! You can do this!" shouted Tahoma. "You will survive!"  
"Iwillsurvive," wheezed the couch-flopper in a dead voice. "ohgodImnotgonnasleepforaweek."  
"Me neither!" shouted Tahoma. "We will BOTH survive!"  
"You need to sleep," said the reasonable voice.  
"NEVER!" crowed Tahoma, and gave a maniacal laugh.  
Grillbz pushed his arms under his chest and slowly sat up. A much-washed green quilt slid off his shoulders. He blinked around a room he only faintly remembered: beige walls with a couple posters tacked up, a couch strewn with papers and a body flung down in a gesture of despair, a white dog settled deep in a beanbag and—  
his view was suddenly obstructed by a skeletal skull with blazing green eyelights.  
"HEY GOOD MORNING YOU'RE ALIVE!"  
"ghzdnf!"  
Grillbz instinctively stiffened, then relaxed as he recognized Tahoma.  
".yes."  
Tahoma flung his arms around Grillbz' neck and hugged him tightly, flooding him with healing magic. Grillbz sat blinking with surprise for several seconds before relaxing into it. For a brief moment he almost felt he could cry. It had been a long time since someone showed him such kindness, and Tahoma was still practically a stranger.  
".thank you."  
It was warm and invigorating and washed away all his pain, but it wasn't enough magic to significantly fix anything. He let himself enjoy it for a few more seconds, then gently tried to pry Tahoma away.  
".Tahoma.I'm a bit heavy for you. . don't waste your energy."  
"I'm fine! I'm good at this."  
".clearly." the flow of power kept up. Grillbz became concerned.  
"…please stop.I'll be alright. . you're not going to fix anything with this, you'll just tire yourself out."  
"Wow, listen to that, it's like you're my long-lost twin or something," said the dog, picking up a book and flipping it open to a dog-eared page. "Tahoma, listen to him."  
Tahoma sighed and let the magic fade away. He sat up. There were dark smudges under his eyes, and Grillbz noticed that his eyelights were wonky, one a thin ring, one more solid. Was that normal? He could remember something about skeleton's eyelights growing uneven when they were under intense stress, but Tahoma didn't seem to be at that stage of distress. He thought.  
"Anyway! I'm glad you're awake! You scared me!"  
".I scared me too. . last night was..not one of my best. . thanks for letting me crash on your carpet."  
"Yeah yeah! No problem, I invited you!"  
Grillbz nodded, pushed his legs under him and stood, intending to thank them again and leave. But he felt suddenly lightheaded and had to concentrate hard on standing still. Tahoma sprang up and gripped his shoulders, sputtering with concern.  
"AGH NO NO NO DSIDTDOWNSITS SIT DOWN! You're barely alive!"  
".I am very much alive—"  
"No, I can tell you for certain that you're too weak to leave! Sit down!"  
"…OK."  
He could try sprinting for the door, but that would be rude and… he wasn't sure how well it would work either. He slumped back down with relief and put his hands on his legs. Then looked down in surprise.  
".where are my pants?"  
"Huh? Oh yeah. Uh, they were soaked, so I took them off to dry. Also you were limping and I wanted to check for injuries. I didn't find any but I know nothing at all about fire monsters or whatever you are, are you OK?"  
".yes.I believe so. . just fatigued."  
"Ah good good good. What's the limping then?"  
".old wounds acting up."  
"Ah. Ahah. Well good! I mean, that you're not currently injured or anything. At the moment. Badly? Right?"  
"…mm."  
There was a pause.  
"If he's staying here we should probably feed him," said the dog, turning a page.  
"…do you—"  
"YES! OHMYGOSHYES WHERE FOOD? WHERE IS FOOD?"  
Tahoma started running, slid up against a wall, veered off from it, made a circuit of half of the room, opened a door by crashing into it, and disappeared into another room.  
"We don't have any," groaned the sprawled person on the couch. "Stress-ate it all sometime around three."  
"WHAT'S THAT I CAN'T HEAR YOU?"  
"I have some stale chips in my room maybe," said the dog, stroking the side of its snout with a highlighter. "What do you eat, friend?"  
".I…" Friend? I just… appeared out of a blizzard and spent the night on your carpet? Do you call everyone friend? That's… still quite nice. ".do you mind me staying here?"  
"Me? Nah man, Tahoma always has people over and you're quieter than most of them." The dog grinned at him. "What, you think I'd throw you back out into the blizzard? It's still a mess out there."  
"..thank you."  
"Really don't mention it. We don't mind. Right, Cecil?"  
"Uaaaaaaaaaaaa." groaned Cecil into a pillow.  
"Cecil doesn't mind," said the dog. "And I'm Borkely."  
"…nice name."  
Borkely rolled his eyes.  
"Bork bork. So what do you eat?"  
"… things."  
"Can you eat normal monster food?"  
". yes. . if it's dry."  
"Dry foods?" said Tahoma, skidding into the room. "I uh, have an unprepared pack of instant noodles?"  
".I always eat those dry."  
"Oh good good! Here snack on these and I'll go get you some better food you're probably starving—wait is the Caf open? What time is it?" he shouted, giving the noodles to Grillbz and dashing back into the other room.  
"Should be. It's after six," said the dog, going back to his book. Tahoma rocketed out of the room chest first, struggling into an oversized green plaid shirt.  
"GOOD! I shall bring toast!"  
Tahoma flung the door open, then was dragged around in a circle as the wind blew it. He hauled it shut with an effort and yelled a muffled "byee!" through to them.  
Grillbz looked worriedly after him. It sounded like the blizzard had gotten stronger.

"He's always like that."  
".will he be alright?"  
"Sure."  
".'sure'.?"  
Borkely shrugged and yawned.  
"Well I mean, I've been expecting him to might have a breakdown and leave since first semester, but maybe not. He tries really hard and he doesn't get into shady stuff, he just never sleeps. Maybe he'll do it."  
Grillbz opened the package of instant noodles and crammed the noodles into his mouth. They tasted of oil and Styrofoam. He followed with the packet of flavor salt, still closed. It tasted overpoweringly of melting plastic, but there was also some nice salty synthetic chicken.  
".are his eyes always like that?"  
"Like..?"  
".uneven."  
"Oh. Yeah. I asked him about it once, he says it's just something that happens if he's tired. But uh, they're pretty much always like that."  
"…forget about the asshole on your carpet, someone should help the skeleton."  
"He's fine. I'm fine. We're all fiiiiiine," mumbled Cecil from the couch. "Oh god what time is it."  
"Why am I the timekeeper?" asked Borkely. "You could literally sit up and look at the clock. It's right there."  
"I don't want to move until I absolutely have to."  
"It's 6:28."  
"Ughhhhhh. I have to get up."  
"You haven't been down."  
"Ugghhhhhhhhhhh."  
A few minutes passed in silence, then Cecil sat up, rubbed the joints of his fluffy white wings over his face and beak, blinked painfully into the light and dragged his papers together.  
"Uh. OK. OK. This is fine, I know how to… this is wrong. I did it wrong last night. I'm not halfway through I'm no way through because I did it wrong and I have to— _everything is wrong_."  
He curled into a ball with his head beneath his wings and sobbed quietly.  
"Aww, that's the worst," said Borkely serenely, turning a page and chewing the end of his highlighter.  
Grillbz lay back down, on his back this time, and wondered what in the names of the four winds he'd gotten himself into.

After a few minutes the door burst open again, propelling Tahoma inside along with a great deal of wind and snow.  
"I HAVE PILFERED YOU TOASTS! I also brought you guys some oranges," he said, digging an orange out of each pocket and lobbing one at Cecil and one at Borkely. Borkely caught his midair without looking up from his book and thanked Tahoma automatically. Cecil, who was staring at nothing, got conked by the orange in the wing and yelped. Tahoma apologized profusely.  
"Where's the toast?" asked Borkely, peeling an orange. Tahoma grinned widely and pulled his shirt up. Two stacks of buttered toast that had been stuffed into the stomach tumbled out onto the floor.  
There was an awkward silence.  
"Well? Come on, I thought it was pretty cool," said Tahoma, shaking his shirt out. Grillbz began collecting the pieces of toast and putting them right-side up so the butter didn't soak into the carpet.  
"…Is that what you did the first time?" said Borkely.  
"What first time?"  
"That time that I thought I'd be nice and throw some of your shirts in with my load to wash and one of them ended up getting grease stains all over everything."  
"Oh yeah."  
"Go wash your shirt _now_ in a load by itself."  
"That's probably a good idea."  
"Tahoma, do it now or you'll forget."  
"…OK, fine."  
"Use extra detergent."  
"Sure sure."  
Tahoma zipped into his room before Grillbz could say anything.  
".so this is all for me?"  
"Looks like it," said Borkely.  
Tahoma reappeared with a laundry bag slung over his shoulder.  
"Yep! I made em' nice and buttery."  
".thank you!" called Grillbz as Tahoma was sucked out the door again.  
"You're welcome!" yelled Tahoma, struggling with the door.

Grillbz looked down at the several small stacks of toast he'd made on the carpet. They did smell nice. He lifted one and placed it in his mouth. It disintegrated immediately into magic and char, but with a pleasant lingering taste of grain and butter. ..Actually, the butter tasted fake, but he wasn't complaining. He ate another piece.  
It took a lot of food to keep him going. One reason he was so disgusted with life underground. He never needed to eat as long as he had the sun, but without the sun, he never seemed to be able to stop. This was an impressive amount of toast by any normal monster standards, but he didn't think it would do much for him. He ate it anyway.  
He paused with the second to last one in his mouth. Had Tahoma eaten? He hadn't brought back food for himself, and he hadn't been gone long. Grillbz finished the piece of toast already in his mouth and pushed the last one aside.  
Tahoma was back in a few minutes, stumbling in out of the cold with his plaid shirt clutched close around him. He seemed to have shrunk. His thinner eyelight had almost disappeared. He silently dragged the laundry bag into his room and dropped it somewhere, then came back out and walked to where Grillbz was sitting.  
"Hey. How are you?"  
".much better." He picked up the last piece of toast and held it out.  
"You don't want this one?"  
Grillbz shook his head.  
"Not hungry yet?"  
".not you eaten?"  
"Huh? A bit, yeah." Tahoma bit absently into the toast.  
".if you're not sleeping enough you need to make sure to eat. . energy doesn't come from nowhere."  
"That's true. Do you want to go back to sleep?"  
"…yes.I think that would be best."  
Staying up wasn't going to help anything, he could barely walk. Best sleep and hope that he could heal, otherwise he'd never get off their floor. He lay back down.  
He stiffened when Tahoma pulled the quilt back over him. He hated blankets, they felt smothering. But it was a kindly gesture, and he did need to conserve energy in whatever way possible. He let it stay.

 **A/N: Tahoma took the time to toast multiple pieces of bread which were only going to be incinerated moments later.  
…The effort, though unnecessary, was appreciated. **

**Oh by the way, not having pants is kind of a non-issue considering that elementals are sexless element-beings who traditionally didn't bother with clothing at all unless they wanted to blend in for some reason. It's still disorienting to wake up with an article of clothing missing.**


End file.
